


A Drop of Fire - Part IV

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [17]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have no idea how much I do not want this!  Damn him, and you, for putting me in this position!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Drop of Fire - Part IV

**Author's Note:**

> Summaries and I: Not quite getting along right now.
> 
> Beta credit: writestufflee, C, MerryAmelie, and Lauranna
> 
> Other real notes! This is a great site for learning the facts about explosive decompression: http://www.geoffreylandis.com/vacuum.html & this is where technology and fiction meet: http://www.advanceddermatologypc.com/adult/adult_broken.html

"Did you like my gift?” Sidious asked.

“No,” Venge said, glancing over at Anakin.  The boy held his lightsaber in a white-knuckled grip.  Their eyes met; he shook his head once, a quiet signal to stand down.

The threat was not present.  Just infuriating.

He held out his hand, helping Qui-Gon to his feet.  Qui-Gon hissed another pained curse, but accepted his assistance.  Venge counted it as a small victory.

“A pity,” Sidious replied.  He sounded much the same as he had over a year ago, when Sidious had still been Senator Palpatine, admired politician.  “I went to a lot of trouble to ensure that we would have the opportunity to speak.”

That gave him pause.  “You had Fire recreated, just to speak to me?”

“But of course,” Sidious replied, and Rillian growled low in her throat.

“I’m flattered,” Venge muttered.  It was taking a great deal of effort to hang onto the remaining shreds of his self-control.  The sound of the Sith’s projected voice was enough to kindle every single bit of his hatred.

 “Where are you, then?  You are certainly not here.”  He took a deep breath and let it go:  he could smell Qui-Gon, close and warm; Rillian, whose fur always had a faint whiff of greenery; Anakin and his ever-present tang of engine grease.

Nowhere in all of the mingled scents was there the faintest concentration of corrupt Sith.

“Oh, I’m some lightyears away from your location.”

Venge smiled, aware that the expression was alarming to his companions.  “Are you afraid to get too close?”

Sidious laughed, a rich sound that seemed entirely at odds with the older, Darker creature he really was.  “I just don’t want to end our game prematurely.”

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘afraid’ to me,” Anakin said gamely.  Rillian rumbled her agreement.

“Young Skywalker:  You do not yet know the definition of the word,” Sidious said, his voice full of promise. 

Venge gestured for Anakin to keep silent.  “Get to the point,” he snapped.  He wanted Sidious focused on him, not prodding at any of his allies. 

“We had no time to finish our conversation in Theed.  Do you remember it?”

“We had a conversation?”  Venge felt a flare of amusement.  “You told me life was interesting, and then you ripped down a twenty-year-old mental construct in my head.  You could have said _anything_ after that.”

“Yes,” Sidious agreed.  “Anything.”

Amusement vanished, replaced by cold dread.  “Fuck.”

“Do you know why they call it A Drop of Fire?” Sidious asked, surprising him by changing the subject.

 _He is a Master at this._ Remember _that.  Do not let him distract you from what is really at stake, here,_ Venge reminded himself.  “No, I do not,” he said, as Qui-Gon used the cover of a tunic sleeve to point in a specific upward direction.  That would be one vid feed located; he didn’t think it was the only one.

“Only a single drop is needed for the full effects to bear fruit.  I didn’t tell Zan Arbor that, of course.”  Sidious chuckled.  “I wonder how much she gave to you?”

“Well, if she gave me too much, I will not be able to entertain you,” Venge said, sounding bored.  He was, in truth, honestly concerned.  If his mind was overstimulated for too long, he risked mental fugue and exhaustion, at the very least.

_Think, dammit.  You are overlooking the obvious._

“You could be with us for a long time, Lord Venge.”  Sidious sounded pleased.  “Do you think your Jedi Order will have you, with Fire in your veins and beautiful rage in your eyes?”

Venge started laughing.  “I think you are allowing your desires to rule you.  If it was really your goal to separate me from the Jedi…well, I will have a lot of time on my hands, and nothing better to do with it than to hunt you down.”

“How do you know that is not exactly what I am hoping for?” the Sith answered in a gentle, almost paternal voice.

It was like a trigger had been pulled.  Venge clenched his jaw, rage and hate surging up in equal amounts.  It made his skin feel electric, his hands tingle and burn.  He wanted nothing more in that moment than to find Sidious, to rend and destroy, to fucking _burn_ —

There was a hand on his arm, and a voice in his ear.  “Stop—”

The whisper cut through his fury.  He turned his head; Qui-Gon looked pale and shaken.

“Please,” his mate said, lowering his head, as if he couldn’t bear to look Venge in the face.  “It hurts.”

Venge gasped in realization.  He was standing in an emotional thunderhead, his hatred for Sidious a physical manifestation that was battering against every living thing in the warehouse.  Anakin and Rillian were clinging to each other, wide-eyed.

“No, don’t stop,” Sidious was saying, his voice a purr of pleasure. 

“SHUT UP!” Venge howled, seeking out the transmission points that Qui-Gon had been silently telling him of.  The equipment squealed and died.  “That is quite fucking well enough of that!”

“Dammit, I wasn’t done tracing that transmission—” Quinlan started to say, but a glare from Venge silenced him.  Aayla shrank down, but she had her hand on her Master’s arm, pinning Quinlan down with nothing more than her desire to keep him safe.

“I am not talking to you,” Venge snarled.  He was so damn close to his breaking point, and he did not want to kill his idiot friend.  He turned away, refusing to look at anyone as he struggled for control over his chaotic emotions.  “It was a fucking distraction.  That is _all_ it was,” he said.  _And I fell for it,_ he thought, furious.

[I hear a ship!] Rillian barked.

“Jenna,” Venge whispered, and ran for the door.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Sidious taunting them all was bad enough.  To emerge into the muted sunlight outside of the warehouse and see Zan Arbor’s ship already in the air was actually worse.

[She’s going to get away!] Rillian howled.  [Anakin, I thought you—]

“I did!” Anakin shouted in dismay.  “She must have had another hangar, something we missed!”

Qui-Gon felt an upwelling of disappointment.  Zan Arbor was one fugitive that they couldn’t afford to let escape, and her ship was…

He narrowed his eyes.  Zan Arbor’s ship was _slowing._   With that realization came a surge in power from his left.  He looked and saw Venge, arms stretched upwards, eyes closed. 

“Uh, Master?” Anakin called in an unsteady voice.  “What are you doing?”

“She is not leaving,” Venge gritted out.

The winds picked up, tugging on their clothes with gentle hands.  Then it intensified, buffeting them with sand and minor bits of debris from the complex.  Up in the air, Zan Arbor’s transport dropped as its starboard sublights flickered and died.  Even from this distance, Qui-Gon could hear the whine of overstressed engines and repulsors, both engaged to fight the invisible grip.

Inside the warehouse, the burn of Venge’s rage had nearly floored him, left his senses reeling.  This was different:  it was more like standing in the eye of a great storm, witnessing its chaos.

Rillian took two steps backwards and reached for his hand.  [Master.]

“It’s all right, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, and hoped that he wasn’t lying.

The aft starboard engines of the ship died in a burst of flame.  The ship dropped a few dozen meters before it slowed, its descent and direction now completely at the mercy of Venge’s Force-grip.

“Uhm…I don’t suppose you’d mind bringing it back over here?” Anakin asked hesitantly.

Venge offered Anakin a sardonic look, and gestured.  The ship headed back towards the complex.  “Anywhere in particular?”

“Uh—there?”  Anakin pointed at a clearing a few meters distant.

“Very well.”  When the ship was almost directly above the requested spot, Venge let it fall the final few meters onto the rocky ground.  The transport landed with an unhappy crunch of overstressed metal, crippled.  The winds slowed and then died, and everything they had stirred up rained down onto the ground in a horrendous clatter.

Venge turned around to discover that everyone—Qui-Gon included—was staring at him.  “What?” he snapped.

“Er—you’re bleeding,” Anakin blurted.  Qui-Gon saw it, too—a dual trickle of blood from his nose.

Venge frowned and wiped his face with his hand, looking down at the red that smeared his fingers.  “That’s new.”

Qui-Gon found his voice.  “You can’t push that hard,” he said, thinking of the moment when Obi-Wan had tapped into the Force, wiping out an entire battlefield of Yinchorri pirates.  Yes, it had worked, but it was an event that had left his partner completely incapacitated, beyond having been shot.

“I am fine,” Venge said, unfazed by the blood as he wiped his hand clean. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, gratified when he earned his mate’s full, if irate, attention.  “Please don’t try to injure yourself on purpose.”

Venge stared at him for a full minute, expression unreadable, before he gave a slight, stiff nod.  “As you wish.”

Though one of the coldest, most distant things Obi-Wan had ever said to him, the words still managed to dissipate some of Qui-Gon’s overwhelming tension.  “Thank you.”

Rillian turned to look at the downed ship.  There had been no movement, no further signs of life, but Qui-Gon could sense that there were beings within, Zan Arbor included.  [Isn’t it—isn’t it terrifying?] she asked.  [Doing that?  Being…this?]

“Yes,” Venge said, his expression was utterly sincere.  Then he scowled; Qui-Gon half-turned to see that Quinlan and Aayla had joined them.   “And you!  You are an _idiot._ ”

Quinlan grimaced.  “I panicked.”

“What were your orders regarding me, Knight Vos?” Venge crossed his arms and glared, in a very good example of Disappointed Jedi Councilor.  “Be specific.”

Quinlan’s grimace deepened.  “The Sith Venge is to be terminated with extreme prejudice if he…if he ever becomes a threat to the Jedi Order.”

“Yes, that last bit being _very_ important,” Venge said, his voice dripping scorn.  “And if you are going to make that kind of judgment call, then for fuck’s sake, actually do the job _correctly._ ”

“I was _trying_ for a non-lethal—” Quinlan paused.  “Shit.  That sounds really stupid, now that I’m saying it out loud.”

“Wait, how come—” Aayla’s voice went high-pitched when Venge looked at her, but she kept speaking, “—how come you aren’t upset about…about that kill order?”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Qui-Gon growled.

“You and Rillian had already departed for Tholatin when MonMassa and I composed the order.”  Venge gave him a quelling look.  “Anakin knew.  You both would have been informed.”

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw.  He wasn’t happy about the decision, but he understood the point Obi-Wan had been trying to make.  Honestly, it was a better endorsement from the Master of Shadows than he’d hoped for.  “A threat to the Jedi, but not to the Republic?”

“There’s a whole lot that can be interpreted as being a threat to the Republic.  This was supposed to be easier to understand,” Anakin said, and then eyed Quinlan.  “Well, maybe.”

“I’m sor—wait, no, I’m not sorry yet.  At least not until I find out why you’re all…” Quinlan waved his hand and then pointed at Venge.  “You know.  That.”

“Zan Arbor has been playing with Sith toxins,” Qui-Gon explained.  Given Sidious’s gloating, the rest should be obvious enough to discern.

“Damn,” Quinlan said.  “You mean there are Sith toxins that can do that?  Fuck, man, why didn’t you warn us?”

“Because half of the components needed to make Fire have been extinct for three thousand years,” Venge retorted.  “I was not counting on the possibility of Sidious sharing enough Sith lore with someone like Zan Arbor to be able to see it recreated.  Speaking of Jenna…let’s go fetch our favorite scientist, shall we?”

They encountered no resistance when boarding Zan Arbor’s downed transport.  Most of the crew—Duros—were already dead, but Qui-Gon didn’t think they had died in the crash.

Jenna Zan Arbor was holed up in the bridge.  When they forced the bulkhead door open, she fired off several blaster shots until Venge sighed in frustration.   With a gesture, Zan Arbor was wrapped, shoulders to knees, in torn lengths of restraint belts from the bridge chairs.

“Well, that was efficient,” Qui-Gon commented, trying not to be any more unnerved than he already was by Venge’s displays of cold-blooded efficiency.

Venge did not smile.  “I believe we have all been shot at enough for one day.”

Qui-Gon glanced down at his still-raw shoulder.  “Agreed.”

Venge walked forward and sat down on the floor next to Zan Arbor.  “Hello, again.”

“I’m disappointed,” Zan Arbor replied.  She stopped struggling, intelligent enough to know that it was a futile gesture.  “A Drop of Fire did not work in the way that Sidious implied.”

“Sidious had no reason to tell you everything.  You may not have noticed, but the Sith Lord is very fond of secrets,” Venge said.  “Consider yourself lucky.  I imagine he was hoping that I would destroy you, thus solving a difficulty.  You know a bit too much about ancient Sith alchemy, now, and he doesn’t like competition.”

“Instead, I am still dealing with the Jedi.  You’ll be taking me back to stand trial again, I suppose?” Jenna asked, her voice lowered in crude imitation of a seductive purr.

Venge ignored the question.  “Sidious is not a fool.  He plans for every contingency—including the possibility that I would have remembered Fire, and would know how to counter it.”

 _And no matter the choice you made, Sidious wins,_ Qui-Gon realized, disheartened.

“For example,” Venge continued, giving Zan Arbor a thoughtful look.  “You will be dead within twelve hours if nothing is done about the poison in _your_ body.”

“I monitor my body carefully.  There is no such poison,” Zan Arbor shot back.

“There is a chemical in the Sith repertoire known as Shillanis, a paralytic that is undetectable once it has been absorbed into the body.  It is odorless and tasteless, and invisible to the senses unless you discern its presence with the Dark side of the Force.  You think the Sith could not do the same with a toxin designed to kill?” Venge asked, amused.

“It’s been weeks since I was last in Sidious’s company,” Zan Arbor protested with a defiant glare.  “If such a toxin existed, I would be dead already.”

Venge glanced over at the Duros slumped at the co-pilot’s station.  “And yet, you are not the one who poisoned your Duros lackeys.”

Zan Arbor paled.  “Killed in the crash—”

“I doubt that,” Venge interrupted.  “Regardless, the same cannot be said of the guard you placed on us, or of the Duros who litter the lowest corridor of your warehouse.” 

When Zan Arbor said nothing, Venge offered her a bitter smile.  “As I said, he is very good at planning.  That skill, combined with Sidious’s talent for far-seeing…”  Venge lifted one shoulder in an abbreviated shrug.  “He would have had a very good idea of how long a delay to place on any toxin he gave you.  He did want you to succeed in your delivery of Fire, after all.”

Zan Arbor frowned.  “Then help me.  There must be an antidote.”

“The Sith do not really concern themselves with concepts like ‘antidotes,’” Venge said in a cold, patronizing voice.  “It’s counterproductive.”

“You’re a Jedi!” Zan Arbor spat.  “You and your fucking morals.  You are all but required to save my life!”

Venge held up his hand, his fingers splayed apart.  Sparks danced at his fingertips.  “No, I am not.  Not right now.  You saw to that, remember?”

Qui-Gon’s heart lurched at the hint of lightning, but he held his tongue.  He knew the stakes, and recognized the game for what it was, even if this was a colder, more callous version of the type his mate normally played.

“Well, what about the rest of you?” Zan Arbor demanded.  “Can you not heal me of this supposed poison?”

Anakin, was shaking his head.  “I can’t see it.  Is this like the Shillanis?”  When Venge nodded, Anakin looked away from Zan Arbor.  “Then I can’t.  I’m sorry, but I’m not going to pull Vader out of retirement just to save someone like you.”

“I would not let you do that, regardless,” Venge ground out, to Anakin’s visible surprise.

Zan Arbor looked at each of them in turn before seeming to sigh.  “I can help you,” she said grudgingly. 

Venge looked bored.  “You poisoned me twice over, almost killed my Lifebonded, and probably tried to kill our students.  Why would I be interested in your help?”

Zan Arbor was audibly grinding her teeth.  “You would force me to—”

“I am not forcing you to do anything.”  Venge studied his fingers, the pose mockingly reminiscent of Jenna’s gloating monologue in the sealed chamber.

“Fine.”  Zan Arbor’s eyes were blazing with nearly enough rage to compete with a Sith.  “Save me, and I will do anything the Jedi want me to do.  I will study any chemical, any toxin, recreate any formula.  I will make vaccines for afflictions that you have not yet even conceived of.  I will happily remain imprisoned for the rest of my life, as long as I am allowed to _do_ something with my time.”

“Is that all you want, then?” Venge asked, with a faintly amused look.

Zan Arbor gave him a brittle, narrow smile.  “A rat is content to be caged if there is something else within her prison that stimulates curiosity and intellect.  I had eight years to plan my escape, and it was flawless.  What do you think I could do in the same amount of time, with access to a proper lab?”

“Scary shit,” Anakin said.

“Mm,” Venge agreed.  “The first time that you attempt to create something that will harm others?  The first time you deviate from the tasks you have been assigned?  That will be the only time.  I will make certain they toss you into the deepest, darkest hole the galaxy has to offer, and you will never see daylight again.”

“You will not just kill me?” Zan Arbor asked with a sly look.

Venge’s expression melted into a glacial mask.  “Death would be a kindness I am not inclined to grant.  Do we have an arrangement?”

Some of Zan Arbor’s confidence had eroded at the mention of death, but she nodded.  “Deal.”

Venge looked at Qui-Gon.  “You remember what this type of healing is like.”

Qui-Gon swallowed.  Obi-Wan had shown him Sidious’s sort of healing, had even shared with him what it _felt_ like.  “Yes.”

Venge looked around the room, not meeting anyone’s gaze.  Qui-Gon was starting to recognize it as a sign of severe discomfort.  “I do not want any of you to witness this.”

“Witness _what?_ ” Zan Arbor demanded.

“Sith healing isn’t like Jedi healing,” Anakin said.

Quinlan nodded once.  “Aayla, with me,” he commanded, and left the bridge with his nervous Padawan in tow. 

“Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “Leaving the ship won’t alter my ability to feel it happening.  I’m staying.”

Rillian also shook her head, defiant.  [I’m not leaving if he’s not leaving.]

Venge looked at Anakin.  “No, I think they’re both crazy, too,” Anakin said, and then ducked his head.  “But I’d hate myself if I left.  It would feel too much like running,” he said with a small, self-deprecating smile.

Venge turned his attention back to Zan Arbor.  The woman no longer looked certain about her decision—she had turned pale, with high spots of color burning in her cheeks.  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“You remember that I mentioned having a high pain tolerance?” Venge asked.  When she nodded, he said, “It did not help.”

She laughed at him.  “You just want vengeance for what I’ve done to you.”

Chill became fire in the space of a blink.  “You have no idea how much I do _not_ want this!” Venge shouted.  “Damn him, and you, for putting me in this position!”

Zan Arbor flinched away when Venge’s hand came down on the straps binding her chest.  A moment later, she started shrieking.

Qui-Gon wound up standing with his arms wrapped about both Padawans, with Rillian’s face pressed into his side.  He refused to look away.

 

*          *          *          *

 

It ended with Zan Arbor unconscious.  Small mercy, that—for both of them.  “Anakin, get her out of here,” Venge rasped.  “I don’t want to deal with her again until I have to.”

After a startled pause, Anakin gently shook himself free of Qui-Gon’s grasp and stepped forward.  “Sure, right,” he said, and lifted Zan Arbor’s unconscious, still-bound form into the air.  “Taking away the crazy scientist now.”

[Will she live?] Rillian asked with a shaky howl.

“Unfortunately.”  Venge swallowed down nausea and clasped his hands together.  He was shaking, remembering far too many times when Sidious had subjected him to the inferno of Sith healing.  Never had he wished to subject anyone else to the agony of it.  There were ways to use darkness to heal without causing pain, he knew, but as he’d said before:  right now, he couldn’t help it. 

Not when he felt like this.

“Obi-Wan?”

Never had he felt less like himself.  Not even during the worst of his apprenticeship under Sidious.

“Look up, please.”

As if he could ever deny his mate anything.  Right now was possibly the worst time to have such an alarming realization.

Venge stood up, feeling his body creak in protest as too-tense muscles refused to give.  He faced Rillian and Qui-Gon on his feet, and then was startled when the Wookiee Padawan dashed forward several steps and hugged him.

It took quite a bit of self-restraint not to panic.  Venge put his hands on her shoulders, feeling a horrific sort of awkwardness, and met Qui-Gon’s gaze.

Qui-Gon looked heartbroken.  Outwardly, Venge did not react; inwardly, he felt some deep, internal place shrivel. 

“Your shoulder needs tending to,” Venge made himself say.  “Not that way,” he added, before Rillian could voice a protest.  “You are going to have to sharpen your healing skills, Padawan Raallandirr.”

She stepped back and gave him a serious, sober nod.  [Yes, Master.]

They left the crippled ship, collecting a grim Vos and a shaken Padawan Secura just outside.  Venge wound up leading the way back to the complex, while trying very hard not to think about how much he hated himself.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian was capable of handling most of the work without input from Venge.  She didn’t yet have a Healer’s deft skill at using the Force to repair skin and tissue or knit bone, but she could encourage a wound’s healing.  She retrieved the loaded pack that Anakin had carried down from the defunct _Rusty_ ; in short order, Qui-Gon’s shoulder was properly bandaged and at least halfway to being fully healed.

[I don’t know how to do this part, though,] Rillian admitted, holding up the small, stylus-shaped laser tool from the med-kit.

“That’s not necessary,” Qui-Gon protested at once.

“I will do it,” Venge said, taking the laser from her.  “Quinlan and Aayla are surveying the complex as part of their evidence-gathering for Judicial.  Why don’t you join them?”

Rillian sniffed once, eyeing him sternly.  [Are you trying to get rid of me?] 

“No,” Venge said.  “I am providing you with a learning opportunity.  They see more crime and grit than you and Qui-Gon will.  You should learn how it is done.”

Rillian gave her Master a quick glance.  Qui-Gon nodded his approval.  “It’s a good opportunity, and they will appreciate having help.”

[Okay.  No fighting while I’m gone, though,] Rillian ordered, and darted off to find the others.

“This really can wait,” Qui-Gon protested again. 

“Judicial is due to arrive in two hours,” Venge replied.  “Unless you want their medical crew to abscond with you at the first opportunity…”

Qui-Gon hated dealing with healers almost as much as he did.  The threat had the intended effect.  Qui-Gon sat down, resigned.  “Very well.”

He gave the laser a quick inspection, making sure the power levels were at their lowest setting, and sat down in front of Qui-Gon.  “I imagine your extremities show the worst of it.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “Face, hands, feet.”

Venge raised an eyebrow.

“You are not using that thing on my testicles unless you have the best numbing agent that money can buy,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“Then it is a good thing Judicial is not going to be seeing them, isn’t it?”

“Obi-Wan.”  Qui-Gon shook his head, smiled, and then reached out to cup his cheek.

Venge froze, breath stilling in his chest.  The laser tool in his hand flexed as his grip tightened almost to the point of breaking it.

“What’s wrong?” Qui-Gon asked, dropping his hand and looking startled.

“Just…”  _Please._   “Just let me do this,” Venge said, and held up the laser. 

Qui-Gon hesitated.  “All right.”

He lasered the first broken blood vessel on Qui-Gon’s cheek, an on-and-off flash of the tool.  Qui-Gon flinched and swore.   “Hold still,” Venge instructed sharply, and then carefully followed the line of the second.

“It’s like being willingly stung by insects,” Qui-Gon muttered.

“And yet, you do not even twitch when actual insects are the ones doing the stinging,” Venge countered. 

Qui-Gon subsided _,_ remaining motionless as Venge traced the vacuum exposure damage.  Some of the bruising went with it; when Venge was done repairing Qui-Gon’s face, only the marks of exhaustion remained.

He was working on the broken veins in Qui-Gon’s right hand when Qui-Gon spoke again.  “Does my touch bother you?”

“No.”

Qui-Gon merely looked at him.

Venge scowled.  “It does not.  You startled me.”

“Why?”

Venge considered avoiding the question, but he knew Qui-Gon.  The man was tenacious.  Even if the subject were willingly set aside for now, it would be pursued later, and the matter wouldn’t be settled until Qui-Gon had a satisfactory answer.

Before speaking, he made certain that Anakin, on his way back from stowing Zan Arbor in the convenient prison cell, was still too far away to overhear.  “You understand the essence of Vader—that he is a fragment of a mentality, not a whole?” Venge asked.

“I do,” Qui-Gon answered.  He twitched when the laser fired again.  “Sorry,” he apologized.

Venge nodded quiet acceptance.  “I am…not quite the same thing as Vader.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened in realization.  “The block.”

“Locking something like me away in a box for twenty years is bound to lead to complications,” Venge said with a faint smile.

“Complications,” Qui-Gon repeated, disconcerted.

Venge dropped his gaze and started his slow, careful work on Qui-Gon’s left hand.   “The very first thing I did to you in that chamber was to smell you.  Do you know why?”

“You did mention that scents are very important to the Sith,” Qui-Gon said.

“They are,” Venge agreed, and then had to stop for a moment to collect himself.  The memories that bubbled to the surface were not pleasant.  “The only memory that _I_ have of you, it is not you at all.  It is Sidious, wearing your face.”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath.  “That happened more than once?”

“Several times,” Venge said, turning Qui-Gon’s hand over to view his palm.  There was bruising revealed, purple and angry, but the area was too large for the laser tool to handle without severe discomfort.  “Nothing so horrific as that first greeting in Sidious’s library, but it did not need to be.  Sidious knew that it enraged me, especially as I could not make him stop.”

“Master?”

Venge turned his head to find Anakin just stepping through the doorway.  If ever there was a more well-timed interruption…  “Anything interesting?”

“Well, Zan Arbor’s awake, and she’s _pissed_ , but she’s not recanting on her deal,” Anakin informed them.  “We might actually get something useful out of her.”

“That would be a minor miracle,” Qui-Gon murmured.

Anakin peered at Qui-Gon.  “You look better,” he said.  “Like, a lot less likely to be kidnapped by Judicial’s medical crew.”

“Speaking of Judicial,” Venge began.  “Did you find communications?”

“Yep,” Anakin said.  “Finally found her little command center in one of the pre-fabs that’s farthest from the warehouse.  I was going to have Rillian blow it up, before, but I guess we don’t really need to do that now.”

“Contact the _Noble Venture_ ,” Venge instructed.  “If Commander Pilar has any Duros crew, they need to either be quarantined from the rest of the ship, or shuttled off to another Judicial base before she makes landfall.”

“She might put us under quarantine, if it comes to that,” Anakin said, concerned.  “Do you think that crap Sidious gave to the Duros is going to jump?”

Venge thought about it.  “I do not know.  I suspect not, as Sidious gave Zan Arbor a different kind of poison.  Apprise Pilar of the situation.  Let her know that it is her ship, and thus her decision.”

“Gotcha,” Anakin said, and left again, making sure the door slid shut to keep the dust out of the pre-fab.

“He’s handling this well,” Qui-Gon observed.

Venge shook his head.  “No, he is not.” 

“What makes you think so?”

“Anakin believes that my existence is his fault.”  Venge felt his hands curl into fists, and did his best to straighten his fingers.  “And I cannot tell him that he is wrong.” 

He noticed the expression on Qui-Gon’s face and restrained a sigh.  “There is a ’fresher in the back of this unit.  You should take the opportunity to clean up.”

Qui-Gon allowed the subject change.  “That sounds like an excellent idea.  But first…”

Venge held very still as Qui-Gon pointedly made sure that the motion of his hand could be tracked, and then touched Venge’s face with his fingertips.  It was like being branded by four spots of blazing warmth.  He _wanted_ that warmth, he craved it with every fiber of his being—

He forced himself to take one step back, just out of reach.  “Don’t,” he said, trying to ignore the flash of hurt in Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“As long as you explain why,” Qui-Gon said softly. 

Venge shuddered, and had to lower his gaze.  His mate’s eyes and words were sharp-edged weapons.  “Because for you, for that, I would do anything you asked of me.”

“Anything?”  Qui-Gon sounded curious.

 _“Anything,_ ” Venge stressed.  “Destroy this planet, extinguish its sun, kill every living thing in this quadrant— _I would do it._   And that terrifies me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am broken,” Venge whispered.  “Because I am what is left of the Jedi who lost to Sidious.”

“I don’t believe that,” Qui-Gon said.  “I don’t believe that Sidious broke you.”

That shattered the ice crust he was trying to keep on his emotions.  “Oh?”  Venge looked up, feeling rage ignite with the suddenness of a solar flare.  “And what makes you think so?”

Qui-Gon stared back, unfazed by Venge’s wrathful temper.  “I don’t believe it, because you defy him.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon knew when to stop pushing, and the expression on Venge’s face at his words was signal enough.  Instead, he went to seek out the aforementioned ’fresher.  It was starkly appointed, but the water ran clear after a few moments’ intermittent spitting from the showerhead.  He pulled the tie from his hair, soaked himself thoroughly, and scrubbed body and hair clean with one of the coarsest soaps it had ever been his displeasure to encounter. 

The shower did have the added bonus of helping to clear his head of the last dregs of Zan Arbor’s drugs.  For the first time in many days, he could sense basic impressions from all of the bonds in his mind.

All but one.  His Lifebond remained a firmly shielded pathway.  Qui-Gon suspected that Venge would react badly to a request to lower that shielding.

Qui-Gon pressed his hands against the cold wall and let the tepid water pound at his bruised shoulders.  He was exhausted, but too agitated, too uneasy, to consider resting.  Instead, he closed his eyes and replayed the events of the day in his head. 

He meant what he said—he did not believe that Venge was broken, at least not completely.  This part of Obi-Wan struck Qui-Gon as being something far more akin to a feral animal, one whose trust in others had been shattered.

The problem lay in what, exactly, to do about it.

Qui-Gon had the seed of an idea as he toweled off.  It had the potential to solve both of their difficulties…or blow up in their faces in an unpleasant fashion.  He hoped it would be the former.  He didn’t think Venge’s state of mind could handle the latter.

On a bench in the locker-like alcove outside the ’fresher, Qui-Gon found a set of his own clothing waiting.  _Shall I thank you for this?_ he asked Rillian, sending an impression of both clothing and his own gratitude.

 _It is_ so good _to hear your voice, Master,_ Rillian replied, delighted.  _And I did pack for you before we left the Temple.  Oh, and your things were recovered from the other transport, too._

That was a relief.  It was nice to know that his mate was not going to have to construct yet another lightsaber.  Qui-Gon reached up to touch his wedding ring, still hanging on the cord he wore around his neck, which had been completely hidden by his tunics.  It was a wonder that Zan Arbor’s people hadn’t found it.

 _Thank you, Rillian,_ he sent, grateful that fate had allowed them a few kindnesses.

_You’re welcome, Master._

When he returned to the front of the pre-fab, Qui-Gon found Venge kneeling on the floor, all of his concentration focused on a shard of gray rock floating in the air in front of him.  “Meditation?” he asked.

“No,” Venge replied.  “I found the source of the Force-dampening effect we have been experiencing.”

Qui-Gon took another look at the unassuming stone.  It had the faint glint of quartz, but otherwise he didn’t sense anything unusual.  “You’re certain?”

Venge smiled, though there was very little amusement in the expression.  “It all comes down to a Sith’s sensitivity to smells.  I have been…noticing something familiar, almost since we arrived, but my focus was on you, and Zan Arbor.” 

Venge looked up at Qui-Gon.  “This stone smells exactly the same as the material that composes Sidious’s lair on Coruscant.”

“That seems very fortuitous,” Qui-Gon said, surprised.  “It doesn’t seem like the kind of mistake Sidious would make, giving us that information.”

“It is not a mistake.  He is _mocking_ us,” Venge refuted.  “Listen.  With a single stone, there is almost no effect whatsoever.  You have to be touching it to notice the stone’s dampening property.  But, if you bring a collection of the stones together…” Venge gestured, and six other stones floated into the air to join the first, hovering together like a gapped sphere.  “Place your hand within the arrangement.”

Qui-Gon walked over and held his hand inside the makeshift sphere.  His hand immediately felt…not numb, exactly, but like he was missing some of his normal perceptions and sensations.  “Incredible.”

Venge made a face that somehow managed to connote both agreement and annoyance.  “I had been wondering how that place remained so unnoticeable, even with the veil deconstructed.  But with these stones as primary building material…”

“He could be anywhere,” Qui-Gon said, as he realized what Venge meant.   “We would sense nothing unless we were right on top of whatever hole Sidious is hiding in.”  It was yet another problem they did not need.  With the Sith’s ability to dwell in any physical form, not just his own original genetic template, tracking Sidious biologically was nigh impossible.  Sidious could already hide within the Force, and now with this revealed cloaking material, finding Sidious’s residual echoes in any physical location would be…  “Damn.”

“I think MonMassa’s Third, Fareesi, got lucky when he stumbled across one of Sidious’s bolt-holes.  Unfortunately, we don’t yet know how he managed it because Fareesi is currently insane,” Venge said.

“Fareesi made it back?” Qui-Gon asked, nonplussed.  “When did that happen?”

Venge blinked.  “Right.  There are events that you have missed.  Sit; let me tell you what happened while you were off cavorting with Chiss.”

Qui-Gon, amused, settled in front of Venge and listened to the succinct summary of Temple events after his departure, starting with the attempted assassination of Valorum.  When Venge got to the incursion on the Temple, however, Qui-Gon reared back in alarm.  “They attacked Rillian?”

“With lightsabers and with Shillanis,” Venge confirmed.  “You should be proud.  Rillian handled herself very well.”

Qui-Gon resolved to get full details from Rillian later.  “And what about you?” he asked.  “How did you fare against Sidious’s acolytes?”

“There may be a dent in the rock wall of our quarters,” Venge said, deadpan.   He lowered the stones, allowing them to settle to the ground with faint _clicks_.  Qui-Gon smiled, heartened to discover that Obi-Wan’s sense of humor was still present.

“I’ve been thinking,” Qui-Gon said, watching Venge fiddle with the rock pile.  His hands were smeared with gray dust from handling the stones, and his knuckles were red, with tiny cuts crisscrossing them—marks of their earlier battle against Zan Arbor’s hired thugs. 

“Auspicious,” Venge said.  He arranged the stones in a pyramid-like fashion, and suddenly it was as if they were being exposed to a full-fledged dampening field.  Qui-Gon hissed a curse; Venge made a face and knocked the stones out of alignment.

Qui-Gon took a breath and let it out slowly.  He could not be nervous for this, or it would not succeed.  “You said that you would do anything that I asked?”

Venge stilled.  “Yes.”

It was a slightly less tense reaction than their earlier conversation had elicited, so Qui-Gon pressed forward.  “If I told you to be completely honest with me, to tell me if I go too far, would you?”

Venge’s head rose in a sharp, shocked motion.  His eyes were wide, startled.  “Yes,” he repeated.

Qui-Gon stared back.  This would be unlike anything they had ever done together—and he would be navigating a veritable mental minefield in the process. 

He knew the perfect way to begin.  “Are you frightened of me?”

Venge tilted his head, glancing this way and that, not quite looking Qui-Gon in the face.  It was a posture of exceptional wariness: the cat that was searching for the baited trap.  “Should I be?”

Qui-Gon didn’t think verbal reassurance would be of much use.  Instead, he flicked his finger in the direction of the door, reassured when the privacy lock fell into place with a loud pop.  “Strip,” he said.

Venge gave him a look of almost comical surprise.  “What?”

“To the waist, for now,” Qui-Gon added.  When Venge didn’t move, Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in expectation.

Obi-Wan would have given him a slow smile, amused and sultry by turns.  Venge only frowned in consternation, fingers reaching for the buckle on his belt.

“Slowly.”  Qui-Gon made it sound like a request, to take the edge off the abruptness of the order. 

Awareness was trickling in.  Venge stared at him, swallowing visibly.

“Am I pushing too hard?” Qui-Gon asked.  

After a long, tense moment, Venge shook his head.  “No,” he said in a hoarse whisper.  He removed his belt and lowered it to the floor.  Then he unwound his sash with shaking hands, turning a long-practiced economy of movement into a hesitant display.  Tabards were next, and then overtunic.  By the time Venge was pulling his undershirt over his head, hesitance had become defiance, and he glared at Qui-Gon with a hard set to his jaw. 

Qui-Gon drank in the sight of his mate’s bared torso.  His skin was paling again, losing the golden glow from days spent under Kaazcint’s sun.  Obi-Wan’s body had filled out, finally losing the too-thin lines that had dogged his recovery, becoming lean muscle.  His arms were taut; his hands were hanging down at his sides, clenched and white-knuckled.

Qui-Gon’s eyes dropped to the visible upper spikes of the scar on Obi-Wan’s abdomen, peeking up above the waistband of his trousers.  Then he deliberately allowed his gaze to track upward, following the faint trail of dark copper hair that led up from belly to chest. 

By the time Qui-Gon looked Venge in the face again, the man’s skin was flushed dull red.  “Well?” Venge demanded, his voice filled with challenge. 

“I missed you,” Qui-Gon said simply.

Venge flinched, his shoulders hunching inward.  “You miss _him_ ,” he said, turning his face away.

Qui-Gon felt his heart twist.  _Oh, love._    He couldn’t allow his mate to dwell on that belief.  “That’s not what I said now, is it?” he asked, voice sharp. 

“No,” Venge admitted, taking a shaky breath. 

Qui-Gon nodded.  “No more assumptions, please,” he said, partly to distract himself from his own burgeoning difficulty.  He wanted to hold his mate, to soothe and to entice, but Venge froze at every touch, panicked by the soured implications behind it.  This moment was not about Qui-Gon’s own desires, but about establishing trust.

Or, perhaps it was about seeing if it was possible to establish trust at all.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

Venge’s eyes widened.  “You mean—”

“Anywhere is fine,” Qui-Gon interrupted, hiding his amusement.  “Your face, if you like.”

Still looking at Qui-Gon like he had taken leave of his senses, Venge raised his hand and traced the contours of his face with his fingers, forehead to chin.  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“I don’t think so,” Qui-Gon said, watching as Venge repeated the gesture, his eyes half-closing in response as his fingers passed over his face.  “I get to watch you, after all.”

Venge paused, his hand still raised.  “Watching,” he muttered.  A calculating gleam shone in his eye, one that warmed Qui-Gon’s heart.  “Watching, but not touching?”

“No,” Qui-Gon answered, resisting the urge to shift in place as his body responded to Venge’s recognition of the game.  “Not unless you ask me to.”

This time there was heat in Venge’s words.  “What makes you think I will ask?” he murmured, and when he caressed his face he tilted his head, moving in reaction to his own touch as his fingers followed nose, lips, and the line of his neck.

 _There’s my fiery imp,_ Qui-Gon thought, delighted.  “Because that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”

Venge traced his lips with one finger, mock-contemplative.  “Then what is it that you want?”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “I want you to touch yourself…while imagining that it’s my hands on your body.”

Venge gasped, his lips parting, as Qui-Gon’s words had their intended effect.  Instead of replying, he lifted his arms up, stretching to his full length with his knees still resting on the floor.  Then he closed his eyes, and slowly ran his hands from the top of his head, down his neck and chest, and stopped just shy of the bulge of his groin. 

“Like that?” Venge whispered.

“Close,” Qui-Gon said.  “But I would waste no time in touching that wonderful ass of yours.”

That earned him a smirk.  “I’m sure,” Venge said, his hands drifting back and then settling, flat-palmed, on his rear.  “What else?”

“A firm grip is usually called for,” Qui-Gon returned, and Venge gave an amused huff of air before doing as requested.  “And I’d have to trace the entire curve of your ass, perhaps with the addition of one or two exploratory fingers.”

Venge made a sound like a choked-off whimper.  “So soon?”

“Just a tease.  Why rush?” Qui-Gon asked, while thinking seriously about sitting on his hands.  “I have not yet spent that much time on other parts of your body.  Your chest, perhaps.”

With the same careful, sensuous slowness, Venge brought his hands up in a slow drift, until his fingertips were grazing his hard nipples.

It was getting a lot harder to focus on a narrative.  “What do you think I should do here?”

“Touching.  I just…like…” Venge’s mouth fell open, and he let out a soft sigh at his own caress.

“Not biting?”  Qui-Gon clenched his tunics in his hands, utterly entranced and so hard he ached.

“S-sometimes,” Venge breathed, his eyes tightly closed.  “Not…not always.”

 _Gods._   “I want you to show me what I’ve done to you,” Qui-Gon said.  Venge whimpered and fumbled with the waistband of his trousers, shoving them down and revealing his erect, weeping cock.  Qui-Gon swallowed hard.  “But I wouldn’t touch you, not yet.”

Venge made a strangled sound.  “No?” he managed to say.

“No.  Suck on your fingers,” Qui-Gon instructed.

“Fuck,” Venge said, shivering.  Then he put two of his fingers into his mouth.  He pulled them most of the way out, revealing the gleam of moisture, before sucking them back in again.

“Oh, gods,” Qui-Gon rasped.  “ _Now_ I’d touch you.”

Venge removed his fingers from his mouth, turning the motion into a caress that left a glimmering trail of wetness down his chin.  “How?” Venge whispered.  “Tell me.”

“I would take your cock in my hand, wrap you tightly, fist you dry—”  Qui-Gon bit off his recitation with a choked moan when Venge did as he was describing, open-mouthed with pleasure.  “I would—I would pull you close, because I do know where you like to be bitten.  I would find that spot on your collarbone that you love and bite until you were thrusting into me, until it broke you apart—”

“Gods!  Fuck.  Qui-Gon…”  Venge opened his eyes wide, staring at him.  “Please.”

It took a hell of a lot of willpower to not simply leap forward.  “Please, what?” Qui-Gon asked softly.  “You have to ask.”

“Bastard,” Venge spat.  “You utter…damn… _please._   Please touch me,” he begged, anger melting into desperation.

Qui-Gon moved slowly until he had crossed the bare meter separating them.  He settled onto his knees in front of Venge.  “Where?”

Venge gave him a look of complete exasperation.  “I…you—just— _fuck_ ,” he swore, and then reached out, taking Qui-Gon’s right hand with both of his own.  He settled Qui-Gon’s hand over his erection, and said, “Must I draw you a map?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Qui-Gon replied, and closed his fingers around hot, firm flesh.

Venge moaned, his head falling forward.  “That, yes, that, please—”

Qui-Gon growled, wrapping his arm around Venge’s waist.  Venge trembled beneath his hand, and Qui-Gon pulled him close.  “Fuck my hand,” he ordered in a low voice. 

Venge made a startled, desperate noise, thrusting forward into the willing channel of Qui-Gon’s fist.  Friction warmed his hand; pre-cum slicked his fingers.  Venge’s hands dropped down onto Qui-Gon’s arms, clenching onto his tunic sleeves in a fierce grip.

Qui-Gon released a long, pleased groan, and bent his head to bite that one particular spot on Obi-Wan’s collarbone.  Venge shouted at the sudden onslaught, thrusting faster into Qui-Gon’s hand as his breath came in sharp gasps.

Qui-Gon lifted his head just enough to murmur the words against Venge’s neck.  “Come for me.”

Venge thrust twice more and then came, his fingers digging into Qui-Gon’s arms as he sobbed out his release.  The feel of hot liquid filling his hand was almost enough to send Qui-Gon over the brink.

Venge lifted his head, staring at Qui-Gon.  His lips were red and wet, his mouth wide as he panted for breath.  His eyes were wide, too—still amber, but his expression was open, untouched by the Fire’s rage.  On impulse, Qui-Gon leaned in and kissed him.

He thought he had blundered, at first, when Venge stiffened in alarm.  Then Venge gave a shocked whimper and deepened the kiss, their lips molding together. 

“You have a problem,” Venge whispered, when their lips parted.

“No, I—” Qui-Gon’s words became a choked-off moan as Venge’s hands found their way into his trousers.  “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Venge insisted, and shoved forward against Qui-Gon, knocking him off-balance.  They tumbled back onto the floor, with Venge on top and staring down at him, his gaze laser-intent.  “You are mine.  _Mine_.  I am not going to forget that again,” he said, undoing the fly on Qui-Gon’s trousers and pulling them down just enough to get them out of the way.  Then he swallowed Qui-Gon down.

Qui-Gon jerked in surprise and then held still, not wanting to do _anything_ that would end this moment prematurely.  He didn’t think it was going to matter; he was so damn close already…

 _Yessss,_ Venge’s mental voice hissed in delight.  _I want you to do to my mouth what I did to your hand._

“I—”  He almost protested, foolishly.  Venge’s tongue licked the full length of him, tortuously slow and so damned good.  Then he sealed his mouth over Qui-Gon’s cock and _purred._

That splintered his control.  Qui-Gon willingly thrust up into Venge’s hot, wet mouth.  Within moments he was shouting and seeing sparks dance behind his closed eyes as he came in his mate’s mouth.

Qui-Gon gasped for breath, shaken and feeling utterly wrung out.  Venge licked him clean until he waved his hand in protest, oversensitivity taking hold. 

Venge crawled up the length of Qui-Gon’s body until he was once again staring Qui-Gon in the face, almost nose to nose.  He looked very much like a cat that had finally caught a long-stalked bird.

“Thank you,” Venge said.

Qui-Gon had a moment’s puzzlement.  “For what?”

Venge considered the question.  “For reminding me,” he answered at last.  “Also, I approve of your Sith-calming techniques.”

“Only Sith I would ever use them on is you,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Thank goodness for that.”  Venge smiled.  “I would hate to have to kill the competition.”

“Again:  That smile is not reassuring.”

Venge leaned down and nuzzled Qui-Gon’s jaw, releasing a soft, pleased sigh.  “It was not meant to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> About 2/3 done with the next part. Keeping up with consistent updates as much as possible until I finish this arc or get buried in work. Caffeine donations appreciated; bulldozers still welcome.


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